The Best Mistake I Ever Made
by musicbendr
Summary: Sleeping with Aiden was the best mistake I ever made." "Why's that?" "Because it gave me my son. And it gave me you." Spencer and Ashley's son tells their story to his kids. AU Spashley.
1. A Bedtime Story

**A/N:** This does not mean that I've stopped Ohio. Don't worry. In fact, I function better when I have more things going on because it helps me avoid writer's block. Anyway, this is totally different from Ohio except for the fact that it's another AU. It's more romantic and cute (hopefully...) and less dramatic than Ohio. I really need to work on the romance thing, because I have this original fiction story and when I try to write the (very few) romantic parts, they kind of suck. So this story might kind of suck, too. Just as a warning. Another warning: this story WILL take a back seat to Ohio if necessary, so it's hard to say when the regular updates will be. But I'll try to do it as much as possible. Also, a little of the explicit stuff and a little more of the implied stuff for reasons that will soon become clear. Whew. That was a long author's note.

**Summary:** "Sleeping with Aiden was the best mistake I ever made." "Why's that?" "Because it gave me my son. And it gave me you." Spencer and Ashley's son tells the story of how they met to his kids.

"Who wants to hear a bed time story?" I ask the two girls snuggled up in the same bed and the little boy on the one just to the right of them. Even though they have a perfectly good bunk bed, the twins Rebecca and Annabelle still refuse to sleep apart. I guess that comes with being six years old and having a sibling. I wouldn't know, being an only child and all. But my wife, who comes from a family of six kids, assures me that it's normal me.

"Make it a good one, Daddy!" the voice of my little man pipes up from the bed to my right. Finn is a mere four years old, but is always eager to listen attentively. The twins on the other hand, well, they can be a handful sometimes.

I chuckle and pat him on the leg. "You wanna hear a good one?" I question enthusiastically.

And like the cute kids they are, they respond with an emphatic, "Yes!"

"Okay, okay." I give in and think for a second. Even with the overactive imagination I get from being an artist, I'm running out of stories. These kids want one every night, and, unfortunately, they remember everything. So sometimes it's incredibly difficult to come up with a good one. But tonight I'm feeling nostalgic.

"Wanna hear the story about how your grandmas met?"

"Which ones?" Annabelle wonders. She probably thinks I mean the grandmothers from both sides of the family. They met in a way that's all-too-inappropriate for children under the age of thirteen. But that's not what I mean.

"My mommies," I say with a smile on my face.

"Is there lots of kissing?" Finn looks timid at this mention of romantic activity.

I laugh and ruffle his hair. "Not too much, squirt. Remember, I was only seven years old when they met."

"That's still older than us, and we see you and Mommy kissing all the time," Rebecca points out.

"But me and your mom were in a pre-established relationship when you came into the picture; your grandmas weren't," I tell them, but I expect it go right over their heads.

"What's that mean?" the twins ask together.

"What's pre-established?" Finn interjects, slurring his words.

"Calm down, calm down," I chuckle. "Do you guys want to hear it?"

"Is it romantic?" Annabelle asks.

"Does it have cool spaceships?" Finn puts in.

"Or ninjas?" Rebecca adds.

I sigh and lean back. "Well, there's a lot of things in there, but ninjas and spaceships aren't some of them. There were a lot of cops though. And bad guys. And a few explosions."

"Cool!" Finn and Rebecca exclaim.

"Is it romantic?" Annabelle repeats.

I give them a sly smile. "You'll just have to wait and find out. That is, if you want to hear the story."

"I wanna hear it most!" Finn proclaims. And soon the room is abuzz with shouts of, "No, _I_ wanna hear it most," and, "Nuh-uh!"

"Clam down, kids." I've always used that expression since it makes them giggle quietly for a moment and then forget what they had been all worked up about before. "I'll tell you if you just be quiet. Now. Has everyone brushed their teeth and gone to the bathroom?"

They all nod their heads eagerly. Finn's eyes even grow wide with anticipation.

The story of my moms is one I remember well. I think that for as long as I live, I'll be able to recall every last detail of it. Mum is the person who saved me from becoming like Mom. In essence she saved my life. Who knows what I could've been if she hadn't been there? It's not like I was off on the path of true evil before, but her love definitely kept me grounded on my worst days.

"Get on with it!" Annabelle urges.

"Alright, alright," I joke. "You kids are so insistent." Then I dive and start tickling her. She goes into a fit of hilarity as Rebecca valiantly tries to pull me off of her.

"Finn! We need back-up!" she yells to him. Quick as lightning, Finn bolts out of bed and is on top of me, wrestling to get Annabelle back.

"Daddy's too strong!" Finn giggles. "We need Mommy to help us."

"Mommy!" Rebecca screams. Loudly. She almost bursts my eardrum, she's so loud.

Sure enough my wife Casey bounds in to come to the rescue of her poor daughter. But once she surveys the scene, it's clear she's somewhere in between angry and amused. "Help me, honey!" I call teasingly. "They've got me."

Casey gives me what she wishes is a glare, but it turns out to be more of a laughing reprimanding glare. She plucks Finn off of me and rolls Rebecca to the side. Then she grabs me by the collar and pulls me up. "Everyone happy now?"

"No!" Finn struggles to get out of her grasp, but she restraints him, all while giving me a look that clearly says this my fault. "We gotta get Daddy!"

"I think you've gotten Daddy enough for one night." As Casey tucks Finn neatly under his covers, Annabelle and Rebecca settle back into their previous spots and stare up at me expectantly. I pretend not to know why. But a "lightbulb" goes off in my head and I snap my fingers.

"Oh," I say overdramatically, and they giggle. "You want the story."

"Yes!" Annabelle and Rebecca wiggle even more with excitement.

"So here it goes-"

But Casey cuts me off after she finishes with Finn. "Everybody ready for bed?" Somebody wasn't listening to her husband.

"No," Annabelle informs her with a pout. "Daddy was going to tell us a story."

Casey sighs. "Sweetie, you know I love you, but you also know it's bedtime." She puts her hand on my shoulder and gives me a disappointed look.

"But it's Friday night," I protest, much in the style of my children. This makes them giggle until Casey shoots them a half-joking glare to get them quiet.

"And it's supposed to be a real good story," Rebecca adds bravely. I love Casey to no end, but sometimes I think she scares the kids a little too much when she's being a disciplinarian.

She's also too curious. "Which story?"

"How Ash-Ash and Mammy met," Rebecca says gleefully.

Casey's resolve is breaking, I can tell. She loves this story, too, mostly because she's such a sucker for romance, and my moms' story _is_ really romantic. "Fine," she grumbles. "But on one condition?"

"What? What?" Rebecca and Annabelle chorus.

She sits down on Finn's bed snuggles under the covers. He giggles and gets as close to her and possible, his thumb permanently stuck in his mouth. "That I get to listen."

"Done." I lean over and give her a quick kiss of thanks, which I receive a you-so-owe-me response to.

"Daddy, can you come sit with us?" Annabelle tugs on my shirt sleeve.

I simply get up off the space in the floor between their two beds and hop onto the edge of my daughters'. They come up on either side of me, dragging their ratty old blankets they got the day they were born. Annabelle's is green and Rebecca's is yellow. I've never told them, but I got two different colors so I could tell them apart as little babies. I put my arms around them and begin the story.

"It all started on a rainy Monday morning when I was just seven years old..."


	2. Career Day

**A/N:** Just as a warning, you shouldn't expect updates this frequently. Three day weekends seem to leave me with a lot of extra time and inspiration. Um... italics are present and regular font is the son telling the story.

"Gordon! Gordon, where are you?" Mommy yelled up the stairs. I was busy putting the finishing touched on my sneakers, so proud of myself for finally being able to tie them. I could have possibly been the last kid in the second grade to do so, but I felt happy all the same.

"Mommy, Mommy!" I ran down the stairs at breakneck speed. She turned around, her hands ladened with bags and coats. But she still looked up at me with a big smile on her face when I came rushing down.

"What's up, Gordie?"

I lifted up my foot with much gusto. "Look at this! I tied it! All by myself!" Mommy put all her stuff down on the floor and hugged me tightly.

"That's awesome, sweetie!" She kissed me on the top of my head. "That's my boy. But my boy better grab his coat and his backpack, or we're going to be late for career day at school." I skipped off to the kitchen and picked my bag off the counter.

Mom always did things like this for me; even though we had only a little bit of money and she sometimes had to work ridiculous hours for her DC cop job, I never remember being unhappy in my young childhood. She loved me more than anything, always went out of her way to make me feel special.

"Got it!" I exclaimed, pulling the little blue backpack on with (minimal) help from her. "I wanna hear the science people talk!" As a boy, science made me more excited than anything else. In middle school, I discovered what I could really do with art, and science took a back seat. That didn't mean I abandoned it completely, but from then I on I knew my future job contained paints and crayons, not rocket fuel and Bunsen burners.

Mom collected her belongings off the floor and put her keys in her mouth because she'd run out of hands to carry things with. "Can you get the door, Gordie?" Her voice came out muffled and little less annunciated than that, but I understood.

I reached up on my tiptoes to get to our disproportionately high handle and turned it. She released the hold on her keys and they dropped to the floor with a clang. I knew what she wanted me to do, but there was no way I would. All girls, even moms to a lesser extent, had cooties at that point in my life. And if I touched those things that she'd just had between her lips, I'd get fried by the cooties and burst out in weird purple rashes everywhere. Or so the boys in my class said.

"Gordon," she breathed in a frustrated voice. I think she realized at some point in my life that I couldn't resist that expression paired with that tone, because she used it get her way even into my teenage years when I figured out how to resist. Of course, she'd just send in Mum to give me a hug and I couldn't very well do anything bad then. But we haven't met Mum yet. I'm getting there.

"Fine," I grumbled, though a smile overtook my face anyways as I reached for the keys. We went out the door and I locked it, which I felt really cool and grown-up doing, despite how it looked to Mom.

Luckily, we had a small overhang on our porch that we huddled under while Mom broke out the umbrella from her pile of junk. "Let's get quick to the car; I don't want to make a bad impression on the other parents." All the while she kept grinning like an idiot. Looking back, I see she did that a lot. When she came home with her arm in a cast from some on-the-job injury, she'd invent a wildly funny story (funny to a little kid, anyway) about her being bitten by a rabid dog or something equally implausible. I'd forget about the cast after those stories. When we were short on cash yet again, she'd just tell me that her Social Security number and some really rich guy's were only one number apart, so the IRS mixed things up and she'd be getting money any day. I never really knew how much we didn't have until Mum came into the picture and we started to get her salary as well. After that, the weird rich guy's Social Security number never became a problem again. I never really understood how dangerous her job was until I was eleven, but that part, again, comes later.

_"Daddy!" Annabelle whines. "You're getting off track! Stop it!"_

_"Yeah," Casey jokes, pushing me lightly on the shoulder. "Get to the good part."_

_Finn looks up at her expectantly. "What's the good part?"_

_I chuckle at the eagerness in my son's eyes. "It doesn't come for a while."_

_"A while?" Finn whines._

_"It's probably a long story, Finn," Rebecca says with authority. "After all, two people don't just fall in love overnight."_

_Her intuitiveness impresses me, but I don't let it distract from the already too prominent distractions of the story."_

Mom and I arrived at school just in time to make it past the closing doors. My teacher eyed her with a quirked expression.

"I assume you're Gordon's mother?" she asked.

Mom just smirked sweetly at her. "Yeah, I am. Where should I put this stuff?" At my school, career day consisted of parents putting up booths in the cafeteria where the kids walked around and could talk to whoever they wanted for however long they wanted. Much better than the traditional way of doing things.

"The cafeteria is right that way," Miss Duarte said, pointing to the left. "There's spot marked for you there."

Mom just nodded without a response and strode off down the hall. I looked after her until Miss Duarte grabbed my hand and pulled me inside the classroom.

"OK, guys," Miss Duarte began after making sure I'd taken my seat. Even though she disliked Mom, she was still a really cool teacher. "I'm sure you guys know what day it is?"

"Career Day!" we all shouted. Today was always a big deal at DC Metro Elementary. It just basically meant we had no work to do; and more importantly, no homework. I enjoyed for more reasons than that, though. As a kid, I questioned everything and anything; mostly the scientific stuff. And that questioning led me right to Mum.

Miss Duarte led us over to the cafeteria, and I was practically in heaven. All these booths stood around a crowded center where some of the other second grade classes were already assembled. I hurried over to the area and found my best friend Jeff Wilkes standing and looking around for me.

"Hey!" he said when he spotted me. "There's this real cool lady over there!" He gestured over to a table with a couple of microscopes and some other scientific-looking instruments. Plus a scary looking vial of something. I didn't want to get closer because it looked like medicine, and Mom warned me to stay away from medicine of any kind unless it was from her, my doctor, or the school nurse. Jeff must've read my mind, though. "Don' worry, Gordie. They not real."

"No, Jeff; it's 'they aren't real,'" Miss Duarte corrected. Even though she didn't have him for regular classes, she taught him in math and he made an instant impression on her. I wasn't surprised. Jeff always made a big impression on everyone, and still does today. I owe all of my grammar skills to Miss Duarte, but Jeff didn't really pick up on them. More like he just didn't want to listen. I think that's why she kept trying. She always loved a challenge.

"Yes, Miss Duarte," he grumbled and then the next second the two of us scampered off eagerly to the lady with the microscopes.

No one else crowded her booth; most kids headed straight for this guy who made those really awesome cakes. He'd set out the place with a cake he'd made of a bicycle. Or to my mom with her cool handcuffs. They wouldn't actually let her bring in a real gun or those beating clubs, so she had to settle for handcuffs and some of their cool gadgets. But Jeff and I weren't interested in frilly cakes. We wanted to see the lady with the cool tools.

"Hi!" Jeff exclaimed to the pretty blonde woman behind the counter.

She smiled at him. "It's nice to see you back here, Jeff." She leaned over to me with the sweetest expression on her face. "And who are you?"

"I'm Gordon. Is that real drugs? 'Cause if it is, my mommy might have to arrest you." I pointed to her black vial.

Jeff elbowed me. "Man, I told you there's nothin' in 'em."

She raised her eyebrows in this amused way at me and ignored Jeff's little jibe at me. "Is she the police officer over there?" Being seven years old, I didn't see the look in her eyes as she pointed at Mom, but nowadays I would've been able to pin it anywhere: she definitely thought my mom was some hot stuff. And as Jeff told me many years later, _both_ my moms were hot stuff. And they were even hotter together. I choose to leave that detail out as I'm telling my kids this story, but I will never be able to repress the memories of Jeff putting "Stacy's Mom" as the ring-tone on his cellphone for my house.

I nodded. "That's her."

"You know, I work to help catch the bad guys, too," she said, and that instantly got my ears perked up. Growing up as the kid of a police officer, I never got why anyone purposefully attack a cop or why there were all those movies where it was cool to do that. Hollywood never agreed with me, so it was nice to hear from someone who appreciated that cops were good people.

"Really?"

She nodded with another sweet smile. "Yep. Only I'm someone who helps to solve the crime. I don't actually get to catch the bad guys."

"So you're like Sherlock Holmes or something?"

I think that was the moment she really started to like me since I would make that literary reference as such a little kid. "Kind of. I use this advanced technology to figure it out. Like DNA. Do you know what that is?"

I'd heard Mom mention that term before when she talked on the phone to one of her cop friends, but I didn't understand it. But unlike most little boys, I didn't pretend like I did. I just shook my head.

"Well, DNA is like this part of your body that determines you are. It's like a bunch of little words inside of you saying what color hair you have, if you're a boy or a girl, if you like sports or not. That kind of stuff. And it's different for every person. So if there's some DNA at the crime scene, we can compare it to a suspect's and see if they match. If they do, then we know who did it. It's sort of like fingerprints."

I imagine I had the most awestruck face at that moment because to a little second grader that sounded amazing awesome and totally different than anything I'd heard before. "What's the microscopes for?"

"Neat stuff!" Jeff proclaimed, unable to stop himself. He then covered his mouth with both hands and his eyes got so big. "Sorry! Sorry! I'm real sorry!"

But instead of reprimanding him like I thought she would, she just chuckled lightly. "It's okay, Jeff. At least you didn't yell it in the middle of a sentence. I don't mind if you talk as long as you don't interrupt, okay?"

"You're really cool for a grown-up," Jeff told her and then scooted up close to one of the microscopes. "This one's my favorite!" He stuck his eye on the tube and looked down it. She rolled her eyes playfully at him and I felt like we were sharing an inside joke.

"These microscopes have different things in them," she began. "The one Jeff's got has bits of shirt in it."

I wrinkled my nose. "Shirt? Like a T-shirt?"

"Yep," she nodded. "Sometimes you tell if the shirts are the same by looking at them under the microscope. And this one here-" she slid me one of the microscopes- "has a cell in it. Cells are what makes us people, but DNA is what makes us unique. I think that's the best way to explain it."

"So do we all have cells?"

"Sure. And you see that purple spot in the middle?"

I squinted my left eye closed, only I couldn't do it, so I had to put my hand on it to keep it closed. "Yeah."

"That's where the cell keeps the DNA," she explained. And the best thing about her was that she didn't treat me and Jeff like little kids; she treated us like we were equals. I think that's when I though she was the coolest grown-up ever.

Just then, to ruin my perfect moment, my mom came over. "Hey, Gordie. What'cha find?"

I hugged her eagerly and then told her about this cool lady even more eagerly. "I'm learning about DNA at crime scenes, Mommy?"

"Really, sweetie?" She acted like she was so excited about the news. "That's awesome. But they're making everyone come and sit down for a second in the middle, so why don't both of you boys head over there?"

"Aww," Jeff complained. "But you didn't tell us the special part yet!" He directed this at the lady, who just gave him a reassuring glance.

"Don't worry; I'll be happy to tell you after your teachers finish talking," she said.

"Okay!" Jeff skipped off for the middle where Miss Duarte was giving her traditional career day speech. We did have to sit and listen to her talk about how grateful they were to have all these parents with them.

"Bye, Mommy!" I leaned up so she could give me a kiss on the cheek and then turned to the DNA lady. "Thanks, Miss, um, um..."

"Spencer Carlin," she told me, but even then I could tell she was saying it for my mom's benefit, too. "See you in a little, Gordon."

"I go by Gordie." I hurried over to sit next to Jeff, who was boredly tapping out some sort of rhythm on his legs. "Jeff," I whispered. "Let's scoot over closer to my mommy and Miss Spencer. I wanna hear what they're saying."

Jeff shrugged. "It's better than what Miss Duarte's sayin'." We inconspicuously moved over to one of the tables and hid under it, crawling on our hands and knees until we got to the booth next to Miss Spencer's.

"So which one of these little terrors is yours?" I heard Mommy ask.

"None, actually," Miss Spencer replied. "I'm a friend of Madison's. Miss Duarte's. She asked me to come today since they were so short on volunteers."

"That's sweet of you." They lapsed into silence for a moment or two while Jeff and I fidgeted anxiously under the table.

"You know, your son and that friend of his are quite bright," she pointed out conversationally.

Mom sighed happily. "Yeah. Gordie and Jeff are great, but smart, inquisitive kids can be quite a handful sometimes."

"What's inquisitive?" Jeff whispered to me.

"Shhh!" I put a finger to my lips.

"They're both so interested in this, I'd really like to show them both the lab sometime. I'm sure they'd really enjoy it. That is, if that's alright with you," Miss Spencer offered. And then, in a panicked voice, she added, "But not the gruesome part or anything. Just the part where they keep the DNA and crime scene evidence and stuff like that. I realize you can't speak for Jeff, but Take Your Child To Work Day is coming up soon, and if you don't want to take Gordon to a police station, then I'd be happy to bring him in..."

Mommy laughed in a joking way. "But how can I send him to work with someone I just met who doesn't even know my name?"

"Uh," Miss Spencer stuttered.

But then I heard Mom laugh again and it was over. "Relax, I'm just teasing. I wouldn't send him to work with you at this point, but if you want to grab a coffee so I can make sure you're not a psycho, then you might get your wish."

"I'd like that."

Unable to contain our excitement anymore, Jeff and I burst out from under the table. "Can I go, Mommy? Please, please, please!" I jumped up and down happily, and the two of us were lucky Miss Duarte had finished talking or we'd have gotten in big trouble.

"We'll see," she answered, but with the grin she flashed me afterwards, I knew that she really meant yes.

"Thank you!"

"I wanna go ask my mom!" Jeff exclaimed. A florist, she wasn't earning the attention of any of the boys and only a couple of girls.

I almost jumped some more at this enticing news. "Yeah! Bye, Mommy! Bye, Miss Spencer!"

"See ya!" Jeff added and the two of us sped off to our new destination.

As we went, I could hear my mom sigh and mutter to Miss Spencer, "Kids these days."

She laughed whole-heartedly. "Tell me about it."


End file.
